


Footprints

by Moosegirl6



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Happily Ever After, Life is hard, Love is hard, Memories, Merry Christmas!, Peace, Rickon Stark - Freeform, Robb Stark - Freeform, Secret Santa, Storm's End, after the war, but i can't deal with too much angst, catelyn stark - Freeform, grief is hard, it's sort of, mentions of - Freeform, ned stark - Freeform, other than Arya and Gendry love each other and are doing their best, so it's also sort of, this has a terrible description because honestly i don't what it's about, what more do you want from them?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:14:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosegirl6/pseuds/Moosegirl6
Summary: After the war everyone is settling into the peaceful life, and stepping forward into the future, but Arya and Gendry are struggling to let go of the past.Part 1, part 2 on its way.This is a GOT Secret Santa gift for Tigereyes45. Merry Christmas!





	Footprints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigereyes45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/gifts).



The earth crunched beneath the horse’s feet, the snow not yet melted. It never lasted long here, turning to slurry before disappearing into mud, but you knew about it when it came because the lady of the house made sure to tell every soul in sight. Gendry could picture her now, eyes shining as she rushed her tasks to find even five minutes to spend outdoors, snow falling in the courtyards like the blossoms did in the spring; gently, patiently waiting for their space on the ground. He hope he would be home before the light faded completely; he had hoped to hold her again when she was alight like that, so filled with happiness and excitement.  
He glanced at his companion, brow furrowed, his grip on the reins almost absentminded, and knew he wasn’t alone in thinking wishfully.

“Not long, Edric,” he spoke with the gruff tone of an unused voice, “I’m sure we can’t be far off.”

“No, another hour I think.”

It wasn’t clear to anyone who quite deserved to be called the Lord of Storms End. Both Edric and Gendry were unclaimed bastards of a past Baratheon King, and although Edric was raised there and knew its rhythms well, he had been away from it for many years. Furthermore, Gendry was the husband to the Lady of Storm’s End, the King’s sister. Not that he had laid a strong claim on ruling there, but Arya had chosen Storm’s End with a strategic mind, a fondness for the sea, and a desire to find roots for Gendry. Edric Storm had been a point of worry for Jon, as he considered the families which were left in Westeros and which powers might one day rise up and cause trouble. He worried Edric might try and claim a greater right to his father’s titles, but he seemed to Gendry more anxious for peace than political advancement. In Edric, they had found a friend, if not yet a brother.

“An hour until we arrive?” Gendry squinted towards the skyline. The sun was dropping, but he was sure there was enough light left to see if home was on the horizon.

“An hour until we see the tower. Three until we’re home.”

Gendry sighed, and watched his breath steam in the cold air. “Do you reckon the snow’ll stick?”

“It never has before, why would it now?” Edric shrugged. He had spent the long winter in Lys, the sight of a blanket of white snow did not bring the same images to him that they did to Gendry. Crisp and white and waiting.

Gendry shook himself, “I suppose Winter has almost passed.”

“And we are all grateful.” Edric nodded,

“Yes, and not that I wish for the cold but –“

“It is nice seeing a northerner greet the weather,” they shared a grin over the thought of Arya, who had driven the whole castle up the wall as she anxiously awaited the cooler weather, “It’s like watching a sailor take to the seas. I can’t truly believe that can be taught, it has to be something in their blood.”

Gendry nodded, “You’d like the north, Edric.”

Edric snorted, “I’m sure it can’t help but be better than King’s Landing.” He wrinkled his nose just at the memory of the city.

Gendry nodded. He had little fondness for his place of birth, especially in the aftermath of the war. What were once overcrowded filthy streets were now cesspits of poverty. He could hardly stand to look down from the keep and that fact alone kept his stomach on edge for the month they had spent there. Even Jon and all his best intentions hadn’t been able to make much improvement yet, and as hopeful as everyone was, Gendry hadn’t yet joined them in optimism. He had lived there among misery for too long to truly believe anything good could come of that brokenness, no matter how much faith he had in his king.  
His one respite from the politics of the kingdom was the letters from Storm’s End. He longed for any scrap of news from home; even a passing comment about the weather made his heart twist. Arya longed for snow most, but he knew she had grown to love the wind and rain, the way the waves battered the cliffs - partly because she had spoken of little else in her last two letters. They were shorter and he couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy about that.  
But they would be home soon, and he could look into her eyes and see for himself what was wrong.

-.*

Nothing was wrong, apparently. The cook scowled at being asked for a third time, yet still would not explain why there were no servants left below stairs.

“Look, M’lady,” she sighed, but still wouldn’t quite meet Arya’s eye, instead glaring down at the mound of dough in front of her, “I’m sorry that there’s no-one to serve your supper, but I promise ye, there’s no big problem.” She began to beat the dough into submission, twisting it in such a way that Arya almost felt nervous to press her. Were she not in the process of making Arya’s favourite fresh grain bread, she might have stayed quiet, but the cook was kind under all her shouting and had not yet done anything more threatening than occasionally wave a saucepan around.

Arya took a step closer to the bench, hoping a softer voice might produce a more mellow response, “But where have they gone, Hattie?”

Hattie sighed, and stopped her kneading. She looked up at the window, “Can’t you see the storm outside? I’m no’ keeping them here where they might well be stuck. Some of us do have families to get to, y’know.”

Arya turned to the window and laughed. There were a few flakes surely, and some strong gusts but-

“But they will be alright in this, surely, they’re used to the wind, and were it not snowing I do not think anyone would think to call it a storm.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’ve got ice in your blood, you have, but my lot in ‘ere haven’t the same experiences and weren’t sure how the roads would look. Oh, mistress,” and when she turned Arya saw the real reason for the secrecy; that Hattie knew she had no real reason to be alone in the kitchen, had not wanted to tell her Lady, “they were fretting something terrible, so I just thought ‘send ‘em home, save the bother that’d come later’,” she paused at the workbench and pressed a hand to her temple, “Cleyre and Marsilie were making such a racket it were doing my head a powerful pain. I’d rather work alone than with all that fuss.” She reached for a rolling pin and did her best not to look at the pile of potatoes still left unpeeled, or her lady standing next to them.

Arya was silent for a minute. She could perfectly well understand not wanting to keep the kitchen maids here longer than she had to, they were loud and energetic and Hattie was starting to prefer a slower pace. The fact that she hadn’t wanted to say so concerned Arya more than her empty kitchen.

“What’s still needs doing before you finish tonight?”  

Hattie looked up quickly, “Now, don’t fret, M’lady, I can peel a few spuds myself, there’ll still be something for your husband’s supper, so long as I can get this bread done without any more questions.” She turned her red face back to the kneading. Arya gave her a moment’s grace and turned to look out the window. It truly was a lovely night.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I went for a walk tonight?” Sometimes she liked to ask a hope aloud, just to gauge how unrealistic it was. She chose not to mention the part about not coming back.

“You’d be fine through the courtyard to your chambers, I reckon.”

She shot such a look that Arya immediately thought of her mother. She smothered her laughter and turned for an apron, “Are these for boiling?” she asked as she picked up a knife and a potato.

Hattie turned pale when she saw her lady in an apron, but Arya was already scraping skin from the vegetables. She nodded wearily, “Yes, and there’s carrots for roasting b’there. But you don’t have to do that m’lady, really I should be fine.”

Arya smiled. Her protests were half-hearted at best, and there was a hint of relief about her smile.

“I have nothing else to do tonight, Hattie, not until Gendry’s home,” she let her brow fall into a frown for the briefest of moments before smiling again, “you might as well put me to work.”

Hattie nodded reluctantly, and they worked in silence together, with nothing but the soft falling of snow to distract Arya from the conversation she surely must have with her husband later. She reached for another potato.

-.*

It was in fact four hours before they made it back to Storm’s End. The snow came on faster and thicker, and nearly blew them off the road. The King’s Road may have been broad here but that did not make it clear.  
Home was a shadowy shape rising up in the darkness, a few lights flickering against the black night. Gendry looked to Edric as they finally stood before the gates. He never looked quite as happy as he did when he stood before the gates to Storm’s End, no matter he was dead on his feet. Returning home did that to a person, Gendry supposed.

The castle was quiet, with just a few night servants scuttling around. They bobbed in greeting when they saw the two travellers leading their horses through to the stables, but nobody stopped to speak. Not on such a cold night.  
The pull of water and fresh hay was stronger than Edric’s grip on the reins, and his horse was at the water trough before the fellow had realised he had let go of him. Gendry let his own follow, and turned to his friend,

“I’ll see to them, go and get some rest.”

Edric barely nodded before turning for the door. It had been a long few weeks, culminating in a tiring journey. Gendry wasn’t sure Edric would make it up to his chambers, seeing as he himself was half tempted to just curl up on the hay with the animals. They had passed the stable boy on their way in, propped up against a stall, fast asleep. Gendry had truly thought they would reach home before the night settled in. He sighed, and moved towards the water trough.

Stables are never silent – how can they be with so many living creatures nestling together? – but there was a certain calm Gendry liked in the middle of the night when all the horses were untacked and settled in their stalls. He could hear the snuffling of their breathing, the odd noise from the kennels next door, and he knew all was well. It was like the end of the day at the forge, when just the fire crackled and the door was firmly shut to customers. The safety of a day finished and gone. But he didn’t feel the peace. He knew there was unease waiting for him. Arya’s letters hadn’t just been short, they had been empty. Empty of news, empty of affection. Something was wrong, something that a distant assurance had done nothing to heal.  
There was nothing quite as sweet as coming home knowing that he would soon be lying in the warmth beside her, but he was half expecting to find his chambers empty.

There was no fire there, when he climbed the stone steps a little while later, and the room was dark. It didn’t feel too much to hope that was simply because she was sleeping, but he held his breath as he stepped through the door anyway. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness and when he saw the blankets bunched around a small shape he nearly laughed in relief.

She didn’t wake when he undressed, doing his best not to clatter too loudly around the room, struggling to tug his boots off in a dignified fashion, but when he finally slipped between the sheets and lay his head on the soft pillow she stirred.

“You’re home.” She murmured, shifting into the space in the middle, pulling him closer.

He wrapped his arms around her, welcoming the warmth of her skin, “Of course.”

“Finally.”

She tucked her head under his chin, and he sighed, wishing the morning would wait.

 


End file.
